


Lions' Eyes: A Study in Lannister Perspective

by altshiver



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Episode: s02e09 Blackwater, F/M, OTP Feels, [obligatory incest warning]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altshiver/pseuds/altshiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles I'm currently revising, told from either Cersei or Jaime's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions' Eyes: A Study in Lannister Perspective

Tucked away in the heart of the keep, Cersei Lannister sipped from her glass. If she listened very carefully, she thought she could hear the sounds of battle in the distance—steel clanging against steel. Shouting, screaming, agony. Her drink was a bit strong, though, laced with something she hadn’t bothered to read the label on; maybe her mind was playing tricks.

The other women chattered and fluttered about like moths, half fearful, half thrilled with the excitement. Perhaps they took comfort in the weakness of the “fairer sex.” Bizarre—they were all so content with becoming as harmless as they looked. Docile, fragile, lovely: the trifecta of the female condition, the limits to which these harmless does willingly aligned themselves. 

But worse still, there were one or two who toed the lines of these characteristics. Sansa, who Cersei thought often gazed at the lines, ran her finger along the lines, gasped at the thought of crossing them, was off in the corner partaking in some meaningless spiritual activity. Cersei’s glass grew empty yet again (had she really finished another?). Every moment that passed gave way for her anxieties to claw at her harder, deeper, gouging out her fear until it ran as red as her gown. The sounds of battle became clearer, imagined or not.

Joffrey was out there.

Her first-born. Her baby boy. The wayward king. She would care for him eternally, with the kind of adoration that outlived everything and everyone. The world could go up in flames and leave nothing but ash behind, and her still her love for Joffrey would remain. Everyone could hate him—let them. 

Because even after all her son’s horrific acts, even if she didn't love him inherently for what he _was_ , he was still the living, breathing memento of a lion nearly as gilt—his father, who completed her. She gazed at Joffrey in her mind’s eye and saw the kisses she’d stolen from Jaime, a lifetime of growing up with someone who mirrored her in every way. The beach at Casterly Rock, the blue infinity of the sea.

With a pensive frown, her gaze floated to the ceiling. Where was her mirror-lion now? She imagined him by the gate, gleaming in silver armor, battling alongside his son. Would it bring her peace to know he was fighting for their city? Or more pain, knowing he, too, may not return from the fight?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t there. Rather, he was nowhere near Blackwater and nowhere near her. And Joffrey? Her mind wandered once again to the nightmare of a world without her son.

Was it possible that it could be worse than the nightmare she lived now? A world hollow without Jaime?

Cersei took a deep swig of wine.  

Exhaustively broken. Pervasively numb. But a lioness, who would wait, and win.


End file.
